


Every Last Drop

by DryDreams



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gore, Hunters Tim and Jon, M/M, Oh and they kiss, Taking some liberties with the ‘lore’ of the game mechanics, Talk of violent death, crossover AU, gross stuff, its bloodborne baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23593834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DryDreams/pseuds/DryDreams
Summary: They both know this is just one fleeting encounter of many, until something changes. If anything ever changes.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker
Comments: 9
Kudos: 44





	Every Last Drop

Jon’s own breath is hot against his hands, clasped tightly over his mouth so as to muffle his uncontrollable hyperventilating, to hold in his screams. Every time he sucks in air through his nose it rattles in his chest wetly, sending a shooting pain through his ribs and his guts. 

He’s huddled under a stone ledge, wedged in a broken hole stuffed full of rotting things; the corpses of man and beast completely indiscernible. The stink of them is hiding him well enough, for now. 

That, and the sharp tang of the blood that has soaked him to the bone are almost drowning out the stench of the beast just above him. Almost, but not quite— how it smells worse than death he does not know. He’s painfully aware of its presence, though, as it stalks back and forth attempting to sniff him out. 

He’s got no vials of healing blood left, and not nearly enough blood in his _body_ to siphon out the quicksilver needed to get off any more spells. 

All he has left is the chime of his bell, several feet away, hanging from its ribbon which is caught on a sliver of broken fence. It’s still dutifully ringing, having been inspected and apparently labeled unthreatening by the monster minutes before. Jon tries to take deep, slow breaths in time with the soft chime to calm his nerves. 

Help will be here soon; his cooperator will be here soon. If he isn’t, Jon is finished. So there’s no use dwelling on any other option. He will come.

Staying conscious is a battle, now. Jon’s head feels light and full of stars; he keeps finding himself jerking awake. Pressing on his wounds helps for a brief moment, until he nearly passes out from the pain. 

A small avalanche of rubble falls from the lip of the stone above him and fear lances through his heart. A claw becomes visible as it curls around the edge. This close, the stench is nearly unbearable, but it encourages him to not breathe too deeply, too loudly. 

Jon can almost feel the thing’s teeth tearing into him again, the memory visceral as it crawls down, claws clicking on the stone. If it so much as turns to the side, it will see him. _It’s over, it is all over all over again._ He squeezes his eyes shut, praying it will be quick, that it will take his head in one snapping bite. God, he hates this part.

But this fate doesn’t come, at least not now. Instead, the rushing sound of a chime echoed times over, the sign of a cooperator summoned. Jon cracks open one eye to see Tim standing several feet away, still shining with the magics that brought him here, well aware of the beast. There’s confusion in his face, and he’s glancing around to see who called him here as he pulls his axe out, transforming it with a quick flick of his wrist. 

Jon desperately wants to call out to him, but it’s far too risky, he’ll be gutted if he makes a sound. The thing is distracted now, at least, stalking towards Tim with intent. 

Though Jon’s heart is pounding in his ears with fear for his friend, he feels a modicum of calm as he watches Tim carefully put one foot behind the other, readying himself with steely determination in his eyes. He doesn’t even look afraid.

In one quick motion the creature launches itself at Tim, snarling, foaming at the mouth. Graceful as a cat, Tim sidesteps and swings in unison, sinking his axe deeply into the flesh of its side. The thing yelps and jumps back. Tim chases it, quickly stepping forward and winding up for another attack. 

Jon’s heart leaps to his throat as the monster lashes out and catches Tim in the leg with one viscera-crusted claw. Tim screams and stumbles, but carries out the hit nonetheless. It’s less effective than it would have been, but it knocks the creature back. With the moment he has before the thing gains its composure, Tim slams a vial into his thigh just above the wound. 

Jon knows as well as any that the pain still burns like fire, but at least Tim won’t bleed out. And now he is angry, and God help anything that challenges him in this state. He slams his axe against the wall next to him, shortening it to wield it one handed 

With a fury and precision that never fails to astound Jon, Tim lunges forward and makes four quick swings, no time in between for the monster to even react. Then, one more for good measure that splits right into the top of its skull, even as the beast collapses like a rag doll at Tim’s feet.

He pauses for a moment, breathing heavily, and wipes a bit of splattered flesh from his face with the back of his glove. This only serves to smear more blood across his cheek, and Jon smiles, feeling giddy with both relief and blood loss. 

When Tim wrenches his axe from the beast's head and sheaths it, Jon wiggles out of his hiding spot. “God, thank the Gods,” he tries to say loudly but his throat fails him and he croaks it out. 

Startled, Tim swings around, drawing his gun as he does and firing off a wild shot. Jon yelps and rolls clumsily out of the way, though it goes wide anyways. “It’s me, it’s me,” he cries. 

“Oh _Christ, Jon,”_ Tim exclaims, rushing to his side. The moment he crouches and touches Jon’s shoulder, Jon curls against him like a cat. 

“You’re a goddamn mess. Here.” Tim produces three vials of blood, stabbing the first into Jon’s thigh himself and handing the other two over as it empties. 

“I missed you,” Jon says, somewhat woozy.

Tim laughs and it’s short and cold, but Jon can hear the affection hidden underneath. “‘S that why you called me here? ‘Cuz you missed me?”

The cough that rips itself from Jon’s throat instead of words is still very wet and concerning, though he can feel the flesh of his torso knitting back together unevenly. It’ll be tight if he stays rolled into a ball, so he forces himself to straighten. “Mayhaps,” he says, finally meeting Tim’s eye as he sits back on his heels.

Tim smiles wryly, genuinely. His hand is solid on Jon’s knee. “Lucky there was a good fight waiting then, or I’d have taken the trip for nothing.” 

There’s an anguished cry that sounds a little too close to a howl from somewhere not too far away, and both their heads snap in that direction. Jon sighs heavily but Tim is already on his feet, offering him a hand. “I’ve still got plenty of time. Let’s go somewhere a bit safer, get you patched up.”

Gratefully Jon accepts the hand, ignoring the twinge in his knees as he stands. Tim wraps an arm around his waist under the guise of assistance, and though Jon could manage well enough on his own now he leans heavily into his friend. As they pass by, Tim nabs the wayward beckoning bell from the fence and hands it over. Jon tucks it safely into a pocket. 

The rise and fall of Tim’s chest and his hand tight on Jon’s hip fill Jon’s head with visions; some from this life, some from others. The slide of their lips together as they kiss through a dozen final breaths, faces slick with gore. The way Tim’s death grip nearly breaks Jon’s fingers, grinds his knuckles together in a way that would be painful were he not _all pain_ already. The fizz of arcane energy that comes when they fade from one world into the next, more specifically, when Tim inevitably fades from his. The way it tingles up Jon’s arm if he doesn’t let go in time. Tim’s firm grip on his shoulder as he pops the joint back it’s socket. Tim’s hands on his chest, cradling his jaw, brushing his hair from his face, fingers tangled with his. 

“What’re you thinking about, little wise man?” Tim muses and Jon glances up at him, tugged back out of his thoughts. He’d been walking blindly, letting Tim guide him around obstacles.

“Oh, nothing.” Jon looks at the ground, focusing hard on lining his heel up with his toe as he steps.

“Liar. You’ve always got something cooking in there. Tell me about what the cosmos revealed to you today.”

Jon huffs. “They’ve revealed nothing more since last you inquired, why do you think we’re in this bloody mess?”

Tim laughs lightly. “You say that as if this is all your fault.”

Pointedly avoiding that subject, Jon kicks a small piece of stone hard, sending it flying off the edge of the bridge they’re crossing. There’s a beat of silence and then a furious screech from below. 

Without a moment's hesitation the two of them sprint towards the building just on the other side. Jon nearly falls flat on his face as they hurry down the steps. The door is locked but it’s not heavy, Tim easily shoves and breaks it open with a heavily applied shoulder. 

The air is damp inside and the light is dim. Something scuttles in the corner but it’s no threat; this seems to be a safe enough place for now. The minor spike of adrenaline gives Jon the initiative he was looking for, and when the door closes behind them he steps back against it, pulling Tim with him by the lapels of his jacket. 

Tim leans in easily, bracing an elbow next to Jon’s head and meeting his kiss with equal fervor. As expected— as always— he tastes like blood. 

When Jon moans quietly into his mouth, Tim pulls back and chuckles. He strokes Jon’s cheek with a thumb, just under his eye. “You’re not very stealthy. It’s no wonder you’re always getting turned inside out.”

Jon rolls his eyes and tries to pull Tim back in, but he’s not done teasing yet. “So this is what you were thinking about, hmm?”

“Oh, shut up.” Jon mutters. “So what if I was.”

“I’m truly honored to be given a modicum of space in that busy head of yours.”

“Yes, well, the _cosmos_ don’t often let me forget just how filled with stars your eyes are.”

This seems to quiet Tim, and he looks down at Jon solemnly.

“Sorry about that.”

They both know this is just one fleeting encounter of many, until something changes. If anything ever changes. The fear of the unknown is something Jon has started attempting not to dwell on. Fearing what is solid and presumably somewhat real all around him all the time has made this much easier. 

That’s all they can do, really. Live in the present. And presently, the hole in Jon’s lung seems to be patched and there’s nothing around trying to rip out his spine and he’s going to indulge in what pleasures he can get. 

Tim comes when he’s pulled in, this time, exhaling a small and lovely sigh as their lips meet again. They kiss until the taste of blood is gone, and Jon can almost forget it was ever there at all. Almost.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my favorite things ever, and is incredibly massively self indulgent so if you’re here and you liked it, hell yeah let’s be friends   
> I’m @squeebop on twitter


End file.
